An Inconvenient Arrangement
by blinkingbrave
Summary: Marriage to the crown prince of Nohr. A prospect most ladies would jump at. Of course, most ladies wouldn't have to marry the prince under the rather politely phrased threat of full scale war. Or compete with their two sisters for the "honor." Fire Emblem If/Fates. Arranged marriage AU. No major plot spoilers. No pre-game kidnapping. Japanese names.
1. Chapter 1

When she was five, Corrin proudly announced that she would 'never ever ever kiss a boy never ever,' a statement with great gravity and a solemn air. And Ryoma said he would hold her to that statement, because a proud princess and samurai of Hoshido never betrayed her word. Corrin can remember that, too. The affectionate grin on his childish face, the warm weight of his hand resting on her head. Throat sealing up so tightly it almost hurts to breathe, Corrin slouches a little lower in the carriage. The rich purple cushions padding the seats are a lie, hard and unyielding as stone, but then, the Nohrians are a bunch of slimy liars, too. Of course their carriages would be horrid. With a tired sigh, her mother clicks her tongue and motions for Corrin to right herself. "Sit properly, darling, or you'll rumple your dress. His majesty King Garon was generous enough to bestow it upon you, and you wouldn't wish to appear ungrateful," Mikoto murmurs.

Rolling her eyes, Corrin slumps lower down her seat, til her feet flatten against the wooden boards at the bottom of the opposite side of the carriage. Trapped between her legs, Sakura tucks herself into an even smaller space. Beside her, Hinoka looks tempted to slouch as well, but Hinoka's well-behaved. They both look miserable and stiff in their colorful Nohrian silks, like poorly painted dolls. "I would rather like to appear ungrateful, actually," Corrin says. "It's insulting that he treats us like this and blatant disrespect. Forcing daughters to change from their mourning clothes to these garish things. King Garon knows our father hasn't been buried even a month. He knows we should still be wearing traditional garb. To send us this to wear instead is cruel to Father's memory."

Her mother still smiles somehow. It's as stiff and false as a wooden leg, but still there. More annoying than the unchanging, blur of brown scenery visible from the carriage window, Corrin thinks. "Nohrians," Hinoka growls, disgust roughening her voice. "The dresses aren't even for us. They're for his son to look at us in. As we parade around in these clingy things, it'll be easier for the crown prince to decide who has the best birthing hips and—"

"Hinoka. Corrin." The gentle admonition is the harshest word Corrin's ever heard from her mother. Slightly guilty, but still too proud to face her directly, Corrin casts Mikoto a side-long glance. Her frown is fixed on Sakura. The poor child's chin is wobbling in a desperate attempt to hold back hot tears, even as her eyes stare pointedly out the window. With her arms folded around her chest and her legs crossed, Sakura looks even smaller than usual.

"It won't be you," Corrin says, nudging Sakura's knee with her foot. Her youngest sister was fourteen and three months and a slip of a girl besides. No matter how terrible the Nohrians and their country, surely they wouldn't marry her sister off to a man twice her age. When the girl starts to sniffle, Hinoka smooths a hand over Sakura's hair. "Hinoka and I won't let it be you, so no crying. Okay?"

"B-but it'll have to be s-someone. Won't it?" Sakura's teary question sits in the carriage like ten ton of lead. Scrubbing at her reddening eyes, Sakura almost seems to wilt, a flower deprived of proper sun. Corrin's not sure how long any of them could last in Nohr, without the light and warmth of the sun, but Sakura would certainly last the least. The thought of her sister rotting away on some terrible man's arm makes her sick. "A-and I sh-sh-shan't see them a-again… E-ever…"

"Maybe it won't be anyone. Maybe after our thirty days of courtship the crown prince will look at us all and decide none of us are very pretty. Then we can all go home together." Even as she says the words, Corrin knows no one believes it, and no one feels better for it. If Prince Xander doesn't choose anyone, it will mean an ill future for all of Hoshido. Whatever shaky alliance they had will be gone, and then King Garon would storm in and conquer them all, while they were still weak after King Sumeragi's death. A man—no, monster who only ever thinks of war. Garon's knights sit on the Nohr-Hoshido border right next to theirs already, and that army only grows by the day. The slightest excuse for an invasion and… Even an arranged marriage would be preferable to war. If only by the slimmest strand of pegasus hair.

"Be it you, me, or Corrin, I'll fight tooth and nail to see us all a happy family together in Hoshido again. Even if someone has to visit on a Nohrian arm," Hinoka says. "Don't think I couldn't bloody that pompous Prince Marx's grumpy face if I needed to."

Mikoto straightens in her seat. "The prince is a… nice man." Corrin tilts her head as her mother's voice lilts over the description. It's an odd emphasis. Neither good, nor bad. Simply trying to imply something Kamui doesn't understand. She does have a hazy memory of Xander as a boy, a sniffling, shy lump she found in their garden at the summer palace. The Nohrian Royal family did visit once, back in sweeter times, according to Ryoma, before Garon wanted their lands. Of course, now Xander is a grown man, one who supposedly grew up quite well, if the Nohrian travelers through their lands were to be believed. But then Nohrians are all liars, villains, and philanders, so if the prince is a paragon of Nohrian values, perhaps that simply makes him the most untruthful, flirtatious trash pile in the land instead of anything remotely 'well.' "His father is the true…"

"Demon?" Hinoka finishes with a growl. "The man who can't wait until your husband—our father—has rested in the ground even a month before trying to worm his way into our kingdom? The man who's going to make you watch as he hands off one of your daughters to his son like she's some common whore?"

Sakura buries her face in her hands with a wet hiccup. "Hinoka, don't…" At Corrin's gentle mumble, the eldest princess flops back against the carriage cushions.

"I'm not the one who…" Hinoka sighs and rubs comforting circles into Sakura's back. Watching Sakura cry and Hinoka fume is too painful to stomach, and Corrin tilts her head to stare blankly out the carriage window instead. Everywhere in Nohr is the same. Bleak and dank and completely devoid of liveliness. Their capitol is more depressing and worse lit than a Hoshidan funeral. Not even the people are warm. Men and women avert their eyes as the carriage rolls by, the Nohrian royal family crest plain on the doors. Everyone says that Nohrians are dirty cheats, even Setsuna, who barely emoted at all. The grimy people who scuttle from the carriage make her nervous, even though Corrin doesn't have anything of value on her. If someone were to attempt to rob her, Corrin's got her dragonstone in the pouch buried under the front of her dress anyways. She misses Hoshido, where everyone is clean, bright-eyed, and trustworthy.

Their ride grinds to a halt, much like Corrin's heart, as they reach the palace gates. The carriage is so heavy with anticipation Corrin almost expects the wheels to sink into the ground under the weight. She, Sakura, and Hinoka share a look, a terrified, disgusted look.

"Girls, sit up," Mikoto says. The carriage inches into the palace, just as dreary as the rest of the kingdom. Sakura dries her eyes with a sodden handkerchief. She'll fight the men who try to pry her sweet little sister from her grasp. If nothing else, Corrin knows that with the deepest conviction. As the carriage grinds to a halt once more, she leans over and squeezes Sakura's knee. Hinoka wraps a hand around Sakura's shoulder and nods at Corrin. At least she won't be alone in this.

The door swings open to reveal a serving man at the foot of the carriage, trussed up in a tight pants-and-tunic combo Corrin's never seen before. Must be Nohrian. Any rate, she's read about this. He'll take her hand as she exits, to help her out of the door. Snorting, Hinoka rises to her feet best she can under the low ceiling of the carriage. "Must they insist on treating their women like china here?" Hinoka hisses. Corrin stifles a giggle as Hinoka heaves up her kimono and ignores him, hopping out with a distinctly disdainful sniff.

The carriage feels emptier after Hinoka leaves. Rising to her feet, Corrin hovers in the doorway and peeps out into the palace grounds as best she can. All she can see are the Nohrian family's legs, but it feels like they're measuring her already. Perhaps the cattle comparison wasn't too far off. "Go on, sweetheart." With her mother's touch light on the small of her back, Corrin glances at the footman. His gaze darts to the ground as she looks to him. Oboro said that she shouldn't turn her back on a Nohrian, else he'd rob her, but Corrin's not sure how she's supposed to walk through Nohr without exposing her back to someone. Fumbling for her dragonstone over her dress, she hops out of the carriage without his help. The small rebellion is oddly satisfying.

Nohr is hard. There will be no barefoot running on this ground, more rock than soil. Corrin wiggles her toes—shoes accidentally left in the carriage—in the hard earth with a sad sigh. Sakura's polite cough jerks her back into motion. As Corrin lines beside her, Hinoka gives her the smallest comforting smile. The Nohrian family has all come out to meet them, and they all look just as stiff and sour as Ryouma warned her they would be. Except for the youngest. The little blonde with the bouncy twintails—Elise?—smiles at Sakura as she eases her way off the carriage, the only of the Hoshidan princesses to take the footman's hand. Corrin chews on her lip, praying to the Divine Dragon that it won't reflect overly well on her.

With all the grace of a Hoshidan queen, Mikoto exits the carriage last, landing making a sound only Corrin's heightened dragon hearing catches. And then the carriage rolls away, trapping them in this depressing castle surrounded by its depressing city. Sakura begins to sniffle again by her side, and etiquette be damned, Corrin takes one of her tiny hands in her own. The Nohrian royals don't even react. Heartless.

The king comes forward first, an ancient, graying man. His face must be stuck in that sneer Corrin decides, because despite his best attempts to smile, he only looks more frightening than before. In his heavy fur robe, Garon almost towers over them, taller and wider than any man she's ever seen in Hoshido. As Sakura shrinks into her side, Corrin tightens her grasp around the girl's hand. "A pleasure to see you again, Lady Mikoto," Garon says. It should be Queen Mikoto, Corrin wants to say. But Mikoto doesn't correct him. Instead she just lets the man degrade her in his deep, graveling tone. With a smile that Corrin wants to slap off her mother's face. "You look in fine health for a woman of your age."

"And a pleasure to see you as well, your majesty." Mikoto raises up a limp hand, and Garon takes it in his own shriveled fingers. Corrin can't stop the grimace as he brushes it against his lips. Gods, that's going to be her in a moment, groveling before this… political ally with a stiff, simpering smile that will pinch her face is the most unpleasant ways.

"Lady Sakura." If this were Hoshido, with their brothers and their men at their side, Garon would never presume to leer at her sister as he did now. Like she was little more than the piece of meat that might carry on his lineage. "You've flowered into a lovely young blossom," Garon says. Sakura only manages a squeak as he presses a kiss against her knuckles.

Corrin holds her head high as Garon shuffles to face her next. He doesn't even hide his gaze as it pools over her chest and hips. At least Oboro did a marvelous job tailoring their outfits to be as concealing as possible. That ingenuity is some small comfort amongst all the shame of having one's sexual promise measured. Corrin detangles her hand from Sakura's and presents it to the king.

"Lady Corrin." Garon's fingers are warm, and Corrin struggles not to pull her hand out of his grasp. He looks like a dead man, someone who should be cold as ice. Not… warm and alive and eying the pointed tips of her ears with a sinister smirk. "We've heard many rumors of your majesty, dragon child."

She can't do it. She can't bow to this man when he insults her family, plain in his expectation not to be reprimanded. A Hoshidan did not excuse injustice or disrespect. "Princess," Corrin says. "I am a dragon princess. And my mother is—"

But Garon has already moved to Hinoka. Corrin stands there, gaping at the blatant dishonor and both families' smooth refusal to acknowledge it. On her right, Xander places a kiss on Sakura's hand, and she wants to slap that away, too. Just separate everything and go back to Hoshido. And while she's at it just… put everything back to the way it was. Two equal powers with two living kings and—Xander clears his throat, and Corrin snaps her attention up to him.

Xander is a sad prince. Blonde flyaway curls tickle his jawline, but the rest of his face, from the worry lines round his eyes to the hard set of his mouth, is kept under cold, hard control. It would suffocate her to live with him. At least he would be pretty to look at, even if he kept her locked up in some far off tower as he consorted with all manner of concubines and stole her country's wealth. "You're the dragon… princess," Xander murmurs. Any hint of the blubbering blob she remembers is gone. Does he remember her, she wonders. "Princess Corrin."

Oh gods, she might have to marry this virtual stranger. Throat tight, Kamui nods. He takes the tip of her fingers in his gloved hand with just the flicker of curiosity in his gaze. This silence isn't good. Though she doesn't want him to prefer her either, she still needs to talk lest they pick Sakura instead. "A-and you're the crown prince of Nohr," Corrin replies. He brushes his mouth against hers, a warm, butterfly touch. "Prince Xander."

Xander grants her a hint of a tight-lipped smile. If that's how the man emotes, Corrin knows she'll go mad as his wife. The rest of his siblings, Camilla, Azura, Leo, Elise, file by her, but they all know they're not here to see each other. Not unless she stays. Leo is a little easier on the eyes than his brother, if just as stiff, which Kamui supposes is some comfort if someone else needs to be… bargained. Bargained. Traded off like cattle to this dark country in exchange for continued peace between their nations. She can't do this. She can't can't can't—Kamui flinches as Sakura laces their fingers together. Sakura's darling smile is somehow undiminished by the gloomy Nohr air. For however long that can last.

"Come. I'm sure your ride was exhausting. Our servants shall take your bags, lead you to your rooms, and prepare you for dinner tonight," Garon says. He commands them like they're his subjects. And everyone accepts it. Even Hinoka, though it's accompanied by a thinly veiled scowl. Corrin grits her teeth and glares at the sad, rocky ground. "My son will accompany you." And one of those sons came with far less pressure than the other. Leo, Leo, Leo, Le—"Why do you lurk among your siblings, Xander? Come forward."

And let the awful, vomit inducing month of matchmaking begin.


	2. Chapter 2

The lovely people asking why I didn't update an older story instead: Because I took so looooong deciding to write again and now don't remember what I wanted to do with the older work. I will say that the potential for my band AU to get a rewrite+continuation is high though. It needs it, and it'll help me get back in the swing of what I was doing there.

Cormag: In regards to the names, I actually... posted this up on AO3 first. Where the Japanese names are the norm. I hadn't even realized used the translated names til I was searching for character tags.

People worrying about plot spoilers: There are none, so read worry free!

Enjoy!

* * *

The dress is tight. And degrading. The clingy fabric hangs down far too low, displaying her cleavage for… for the Nohrian's viewing pleasure. Her hair is tangled up into a wavy bun, and her ears… her painful, aching ears are now pierced. The maids had to actually fight her for that, and they overwhelmed her in sheer numbers. Never mind that her dragon blood left her pointed cartilage far more sensitive than a pure human's. If King Garon wishes for her to have three earrings in one ear and two in the other, then a bloody, tearstained ear piercing she shall have. "You look…"

Hinoka lets it hang in the hall between them. Neither particularly want to enter the dining room any earlier than possible, no matter how inviting the music coming from the purple curtained-entrance. "Like a fancy Nohrian whore probably," Kamui says. It pulls a snicker from Hinoka. Dressed in a brilliant crimson and white Nohrian gown, the girl looks just as uncomfortable as Kamui feels. At least they couldn't twist and pull at Hinoka's hair as they had hers. Kamui beckons Hinoka closer and presses her mouth to the girl's ear. The smell of artificial flower perfume makes her almost lightheaded. "Keep Sakura close to me. I've got my dragonstone."

It's just as much for comfort as it is for protection. The maid had been surprisingly helpful hiding the stone down the front of her dress, and now it warmed her ribs, glow hidden in a fabric satchel. "And I've got two knives down my stockings." Hinoka nudges Kamui's side with a grin and then proffers her arm. "Enter with me? Mother already escorted Sakura because you were taking too long."

"Too long? They may belittle us, but I doubt they'd begin to eat without us. They'd miss the opportunity to parade out their many servants and display their wealth," Kamui says, returning Hinoka's smile and wrapping her arm round hers.

"It… seems dinner was a slight…" Hinoka tosses a quick glance down both ends of the deserted hall for eavesdroppers. "It was a load of Pegasus shit," Hinoka hisses. "Come look."

Her sister tugs Kamui by the arm to the curtained entryway. Drawing back the heavy, purple fabric, Hinoka gestures to the room beyond. Under the warm chandelier light is a gorgeous marble ballroom, yellow-tinted and almost welcoming. Welcoming except for the throng of lords and ladies obscuring the tiling. They cluster around the pillars to gossip and swirl around the main floor to dance. In the mess of nobility, the royal family is nowhere to be seen. "That slimy, little…"

"Lady Hinoka, Lady Kamui?" Pulling back the curtain completely, one of the servants blinks down at her. At the hem of her dress, really. Even without the presence of Garon and his children, the serving man is still too frightened to meet her gaze. "Are you ready for your entrance?"

Hinoka glances to her. Like there's some kind of choice. Like they don't have to sway down those steps and smile and simper with those nobles. Squaring her shoulders, Kamui nods. If nothing else, she won't let them see that they rattle her. She'll uphold the family honor for Ryouma and Takumi back at home. "I believe we are," Hinoka says.

With her sister by her side, Kamui steps out into the ballroom. It falls silent before the serving man has even announced their names. People stare up at her with thinly veiled wonderment, much in the same way you look at a peacock in a noble's menagerie. Like they were marveling at how King Garon had 'caught' her. Kamui spins back to the serving man. "Princess,"Kamui says. "When you announce us, I am Princess Kamui. Not lady. I am an equal, here because I wish to be."

The man shrinks under her words but nods all the same. "Princess Kamui and Princess Hinoka, from the bountiful kingdom of Hoshido," he cries as they begin to walk down the steps. Like rustling leaves, the noble's soft whispers hush around the ballroom. Mother and Sakura must not have insisted for the same treatment. Kamui glances to Hinoka with the slightest of proud smiles, only to find her sister frowning at her.

"Hinoka?" Her sister only shakes her head. "King Garon... I—"

"Not while they stare," Hinoka murmurs, lips moving only a fraction. A reprimand. From Hinoka, who had shared her sentiments on the Nohrians just a moment ago. Confusion and embarrassment coloring her cheeks, Kamui tilts her gaze back to the stairs. At least the cool stone under her bare feet—like she would wear those painful Nohrian heels—is soothing.

They're already gossiping about her by the time Hinoka guides Kamui to the foot of the stairs. Little snippets of 'dragon' and 'exotic.' One hissed request to 'Look at her ears. Pointed like a beast's.' Even if one of these despicable beings were to visit Hoshido, she and Oboro wouldn't whisper about their demon's wings. They had class. Hinoka wraps her arm a little tighter round Kamui's as they edge through the crowd. Why would her sister not want better treatment than this?

"There. Sakura." Hinoka points through a pair of ladies to the dance floor. The sight of Marx dancing with her little sister leaves Kamui feeling ready to vomit on the marble tiles. Sakura looks even younger next to him, little chin wobbling back more sniffles. Her dress, Kamui is relieved to note, is modest at least. "We'll just nab her after this dance. Then you and I—"

"Why did you scold me on the stairs?" Kamui asks. A hint of something accusatory creeps into her voice, and she beats it down. "I thought you and I were a... a... a 'you and I' in this."

"Yes, but..." Hinoka lets out a growling sigh and waves to Sakura twirling with Marx. "Do you want them to pick Sakura? Mother—"

"Mother's scared to—"

"She doesn't want a war. While I don't want to be treated as less than these people, I don't want a war either," Hinoka says.

"We should be able to have both," Kamui replies. "King Garon and Prince Marx should be able to treat us as equals and—"

"I want that, too, but... To think that we can have all that, and Sakura safe, too... might be..." Hinoka purses her lips and shakes her head.

"Might be what?" Kamui asks.

"Naive, Kamui. Childish." The way Hinoka says the words are more insulting than the words themselves. Like she was stupid. Of all people, Hinoka was the one Kamui thought she could trust to support her. "We can gripe in private, but if we act so bold in public, Mother feels we may give them excuse to—"

"To invade our nation because I insist on Hoshido being treated with respect? How am I the child in that situation?" Hinoka's mouth tightens at Kamui's hiss. Good. "At least I don't let Mother pick my opinions."

Hinoka just shakes her head. "You're throwing a tantrum. Like. A. Child."

Kamui gapes at her, face redder than her sister's hair. "I'm finding Mother." Wrenching her arm from Hinoka's grasp, Kamui stalks across the ballroom, feet slapping across the stone in a distinctly unladylike manner. Just because she wanted the best for her—their nation... Ryouma, Takumi, Oboro... They would understand. They were proud of their culture. Like she thought Hinoka was.

"You. You're the dragon girl." Kamui almost walks in to the noblewoman fluttering her fan in front of her. Contemplating mellowing her frown, Kamui eyes the noble. The girl seems nice enou—No. Why lie? She wants to touch her ears.

Kamui crosses her arms over her chest and glares up at the girl. "The dragon princess. Kamui."

The noblewoman titters behind her fan. It's a cream colored, black lace design, fashioned to match her dress. Kamui briefly fantasizes snatching the little flapping thing from her gloved hand. "Right." Worming her arm to loop through Kamui's, the girl begins to drag her to a group of nobles clustered round one of the ivory pillars. "Please do come chat with my friends. We're all so thrilled you could be here." There's no twisting from the noblewoman's grasp, so Kamui follows her with a scowl on her face.

Her collection of friends was indeed thrilled. Very thrilled. So thrilled they kept asking her question after question about Nohrian politics that she answers with complete honesty, naivety be damned. When Kamui isn't sure, but some time between the first question and the current, Camilla settles behind Kamui's growing audience. Just watching from behind purple bangs with a charming smile.

"If I were Lord… Alexuis, then I would forfeit the land. The nearby tribe seems justified in their claim of ownership so he shall have to build his vacation home elsewhere," Kamui says. The nobles glance between each other, twittering behind their fans. Camilla's hooded gaze is impenetrable, hiding the woman's opinion behind a sheet of iron. Then the twittering stops, the nobles still as statues. "I-is there yet another question?"

Camilla glides through the crowd with outstretched arms, earning another little start from the nobility. Kamui flinches as Marx brushes by her. "Brother, how lovely to see you again," Camilla coos. They speak like strangers. Is she going to have to speak to them like that if she stays? Camilla beckons Marx into a hug. The nobles scatter as he meets her embrace with a stiff, one-armed gesture.

As soon as the lords and ladies are a decent distance away, Marx and Camilla begin whispering amongst themselves. Kamui's eyes narrow as they cast quick little glances in her direction. "If there's something you wish to say to me, please, go ahead," Kamui says. Her voice is definitely curt, rudely so. Hinoka's not here to keep her from speaking her mind though, and at the moment, she rather relishes in it.

Camilla sashays around Marx with just the right amount of sway to accentuate her curves perfectly. She'd be a gorgeous woman in anything, but in her dark evening dress, Camilla makes Kamui—even in her horrible mood—avert her eyes shyly. "You're darling, sweetheart." Camilla pats Kamui's cheek with an indulgent smile. "You're also going to end up with a knife in your back if you don't watch your tongue. Probably multiple."

With a graceful wave of her hand, Camilla vanishes into the crowd, leaving Kamui shocked behind her. To say such things with such frivolity... Was this some poorly communicated Nohrian joke? Like nothing peculiar just happened, Marx proffers his arm. "Dance with me?"

There may be a polite lilt to his voice, but both of them know it isn't a question. "Of course. Milord." Kamui places her arm over his and lets him guide her on to the ballroom floor. The butterflies in her stomach aren't because of the romance of the gesture, but rather fear of the potential for romance in his gesture. She's not in the mood for this. With a silent prayer to the gods to ruin their dance, Kamui places her hand on Marx's shoulder.

He's tall. Far too tall. She's no short girl in Hoshido, but the men in Nohr are somehow bigger. Like they were bred from a larger, meaner, tougher line of human. Kamui's sure the top of her head barely reaches his shoulder. Maybe his chin, if he didn't hold his head so high all the time. Marx keeps tugging her closer, adding an extra awkward element to their dance as she tries to keep her distance. "Just…" He yanks her to his chest with extra roughness, slamming her nose into his chest. "I'm trying to give you some advice," Marx murmurs.

The smell of fancy cologne, mixed with the lightest scent of salt she's sure only her inhuman nose could catch, is heady. Between that and her corset, it's almost impossible to breathe. "I don't need—"

"Your naivety shall get you killed." His words are soft as a butterfly's breath, and his mouth presses in her hair. To an eavesdropper, Marx's speech would be a mystery.

Kamui tries to scowl at him, but Marx keeps her too close to his chest for him to see her face. She can't possibly be getting this lecture twice not even a full day after arriving at this palace. "E-excuse me?"

"Naïve. You. Are. Naïve," Marx growls. His breath tickles her hair, and despite her best efforts otherwise, Kamui's face flushes. Anger flush, Kamui decides. "Camilla says you showed disapproval for two thirds of those nobles' claims. Which means two thirds of those nobles are now your enemies."

"So they're going to assassinate me. The next, logical step," Kamui says. As the music quickens, Marx takes her through a fast twirl. At this speed, the corset makes it even harder to breathe, but Kamui forces her breathing to even anyways out of pride.

"Quip about it if you want. Just watch your tongue so my family and I don't have to." The harshness in Marx's words only grinds the anger in her belly. Like her dragonstone can sense her ire, it burns hotter against her chest.

"Your nobility asked me questions so I answered. Look, I'm not going to lie to anyone," Kamui says.

"That's exactly what you do." Marx twirls them between another pair of dancers. Gods, she can't breathe properly.

"Why do you care what I say?" Her voice sounds fluttery and distant in her ears. She needs to sit down. Now.

"Your death would lead to a war neither of us really wants for our country," Marx says. Oblivious to her wobbling legs, he guides Kamui in another twist.

"Then don't assassinate people over land claims. Why am I consistently at fault for expecting decent treatment from y-you?" Hellooooo impending darkness. Kamui tries to stay steady as her brain screams at her to sit down. Just til the end of the song. She just needs to last long enough to not embarrass herself in front of this man.

"I didn't have to give you my advice."

"Sh-should I be thanking you then for your-your—" Legs growing weaker with every breath, Kamui sways into Marx's chest. Gods-fucking-damnit. The overpower scent of cologne only makes it harder to breathe. "I-I need to—"

"Princess?" Marx almost sounds… concerned. Air deprivation must have addled her brain already. One of his arms wraps around her waist, the other eases her to lean against his side. "You clearly need privacy. Come with me."

She doesn't have much of a choice. His warm strength is the only thing keeping upright, and, as tempting as it is to refuse his help, Kamui is too weak to pull herself from his grasp. She crosses her arms over her chest. The least she can do is refuse to touch him. "Damn N-Nohrians and their damn corsets."

Marx only quirks an eyebrow at her. Probably. Her darkening vision and her head pressed against his side make it hard to find his face. The crowd parts as he half-leads, half-drags her out to the balcony. Are the nobles gossiping about how intimate they look or how much of an embarrassment she is, Kamui wonders. It's their own fault she's about to collapse on their dance floor. Oboro would never have designed her something so restrictive.

Cool air breathes some strength back into her limbs when Marx pushes open one of the balcony doors. "Here," Marx says, guiding her to lean against the balcony railing. Kamui concentrates on steadying herself against the black stone as Marx draws the curtains and closes the doors.

"Lean forward. I'll undo the ties." Marx's hand lights on her back, and Kamui elbows him in the stomach.

"What are you? Some kind of pervert?" Kamui asks. The darkness is only worsening. Squeezing her eyes shut, she wills herself to stay standing in front of Marx.

"Do you want to faint on the balcony?" Marx's hand is still on her back, warmth soaking into her skin even through his gloves. She doesn't want his gloved fingers on her bare skin.

"It'd be preferable, yeah." Kamui can hear Marx's frustrated growl in a hazy, darkening bubble. The most emotion she's ever heard from the man, but it's hard to focus on it when she feels like she might take a header into his garden. "J-just get Hinoka. Or my mother."

Marx has already begun to pop the buttons at the back of her dress anyways. She wants to smack him, but not collapsing in front of him is already absorbing most of her mental power. "I can get Camilla," Marx says. "But I'd have to scope the whole ballroom for her, and it'd make a scene."

"Oh, heaven forbid! A scene!" He pops the last button off as she huffs, and the fabric crumples around her waist. Because it's Nohrian tailoring, Kamui supposes not much more skin is revealed than was visible before.

"See. That's the level of understanding—Godsdamn, your maid laced this tighter than a set of riding boots—" Marx pulls at the ties on her corset, loosening them one by one.

"C-close your eyes," Kamui hisses. Gods, a Hoshido man would never dare to glimpse at so much as her unclothed knee. "You can't look at a lady's bare back."

"We have dress styles specifically to reveal the bare back, so really—" Marx grunts as Kamui kicks him in the shins. "You're hardly a lady anyways."

"I'm more of lady than you are a gentleman." She catches his chin with her elbow. It's a nice, satisfying thunk, too. "Luring girls out on to balconies only to bend them over the railing and undo their corsets."

"Usually there's a lot less struggling and a lot more giggling." Kamui's scandalized gasp pulls a soft snort from the prince.

"You're an ass."

Kamui stomps on his foot, and she's rewarded with Marx's grunt. "Likewise."

"Oho, 'likewise.' I'm Crown Prince Marx here to educate you on fancy talking and assery. How—" The ties loosen all at once, and her insides can move again. Kamui takes a deep, sweet breath.

And her pouch falls out the front of her dress. "Ah! My dragonstone!" Kamui tugs her dress out of Marx's grasp and leans over the balcony. Freed from its satchel, glittering stone illuminates the rock and dirt that makes up the Nohrian 'garden' in a pale wash of light. If anything happens to it… Heaving up her skirts, Kamui places a foot up on the balcony railing. The drop isn't too far. She can jump.

"Wai—" Kamui hops off after her stone.

The regret is instant. Years of wilderness exploration and tree climbing have more than trained her how to jump from heights, but not how to land on rock. Kamui lands hard. Without springy grass as her cushion, she rolls across rock and dirt, scraping up her arms as she goes. Her feet are definitely bloodied, and they sting like she tried to walk across hot coals. "Ka—Princess Kamui?!" Kamui flips Marx the bird from her huddled lump on the ground. Her mouth curls into a smirk as her dragon ears pick up on his growly 'godsdamnit.'

Kamui pushes herself up to her feet and crumples back down to the ground. Her ankle feels like it's been lit on fire. Something is twisted, sprained, broken. Like this day couldn't get any worse. She won't hear the end of this from Marx. Or her mother. Probably Hinoka, too. It'll just be one extended tongue-lashing on naivety and murder. Kamui struggles to crawl her way up to her dragonstone. It glows just feet away, and she needs it back.

So silent she hadn't even realized he followed her off the balcony, Marx sweeps up her stone in a smooth arc. The light softens his face, but his eyes—She doesn't want to see the last true vestige of Hoshidan power lighting up a Nohrian gaze. "So… this is what allows you to transform safely," Marx says.

Kamui sticks out her hand, but Marx doesn't seem to notice. He just stands there in deep contemplation, thumb rubbing slow circles into her gem. "Yes. And give it back." Pushing herself up, Kamui thrusts her hand out again.

For a brief, horrible, almost… strange moment, she doesn't think he'll give it back. Then Marx's mouth turns up into the barest hint of a smirk. "You know, as the—What was it?—the crown prince of fancy talking and assery I really have to ask you to word that better." Marx sets the stone back in Kamui's hand, and she clutches it against her chest. "Don't… let that happen again." Whatever he's trying to convey in the slow hesitation in his tone, Kamui doesn't quite understand. "It wouldn't be taken well here."

The confidence in his jaw back, Marx crouches down beside her. As he leans closer, Kamui angles away from him, grip tight on her dragonstone. Not being completely distrustful of the Nohrian in the beginning was what got her into this mess. She should've pulled herself from his grasp—"Which ankle?"

"Just call Sakura here," Kamui says. "But not without Hinoka. I don't want her alone with you." Marx only rolls his eyes and flips her dress up to her knees. Kamui's indignant huff earns her a head shake.

"Where are your shoes?" Marx growls. He waves to her foot, bruising to a lovely lilac color and bleeding from the sole.

"I left them in one of those decorative vases because—Wha-What are you—" As Kamui sputters, Marx loops one arm around her back, the other around her knees. He heaves her up into the air like she's nothing in his arms. "Th-this is—This—Y-you—" Kamui beats a tiny fist against Marx's chest. Which does nothing because his chest is rock solid. If anything, her fingers hurt after that. "I am not a child."

"No. You're a little princess," Marx says. Her head is pressed against his shoulder, and her sensitive dragon ears twitch as his voice rumbles in his bones. There's something velvet in his tone, under all the iron. The rich tone is comforting. Almost soo—

No. Marx was an unattractive, uninteresting, un… un… unvelvety voiced ass of a prince. Kamui crosses her arms over her chest and scowls at his flawless jawline. He wasn't always this perfect. Or insufferable. "We met as kids, waaay back when. Spent like a few days together. You cried a lot, and I beat you up twice," Kamui says.

"I don't recall this." Theeeere we go. Pompous prince voice is back, velvety voice she definitely hallucinated is gone.

"Really? Because I was hoping you could fill me in on some of the hazier details." Kamui smiles sweetly up at him. Innocently. With an extra dab of naivety that he and Hinoka so hated. Screw them.

* * *

Pairing requests are open, esp for Kamui and Hinoka. I'd also love to hear if you were a reader of my FE:A band au and are interested in seeing it get a revamp!


	3. Chapter 3

AceGab: I do not have a regular schedule set. School screws with my free time, but I should have a minimum of one chapter out per month. Fingers crossed for two?

Thanks for all the reviews/favs/follows/hits!

Enjoy the next chapter!

* * *

Kamui wakes up to a pounding head ache, lovely pain in her neck, and the rather disorienting discovery of not being in her own bed. Squinting at the back of a crimson, velvet couch, Kamui presses a palm against her forehead. "Perhaps you should consider that side-effect from the Nohrian magic we had to use to right your ankle a caution." Mikoto's voice contains the barest hint of steel. Kamui rolls over to face her, sending another pounding wave of pain radiating through her skull. Her mother is seated at the sitting room table of their bedroom suite, looking on in sympathy as Kamui clutches at her head with a groan. "The pain should subside as the day goes on."

Swallowing down the strange taste in her mouth, Kamui pushes herself up on her elbows. Her head throbs like she drank too much wine the night before, and her brain feels like it was stuffed with cotton. Her dress from last night pools around her waist, corset loose to reveal her creamy slip underneath. Why was she still… "Wh-Where's…" Her voice is thick and scratchy, and Kamui breaks off into a choked cough.

Mikoto pours her a glass of water from a metal pitcher and then places it back on its tray. Next to it is a bowl of plainly old oatmeal and next to that, another tray with a luncheon spread of bread, meat, and cheese. "It's around mid-afternoon," Mikoto says, following her gaze to the trays. She hands her the water, fingers concealed under lacey Nohrian gloves. "Your dragon blood apparently disagrees with the staff Elise used."

Kamui downs the water, lukewarm after sitting in their sitting room since morning, but still soothing down her parched throat. Frowning, she tries to remember Elise, but everything past Marx heaving her in his arms like a child was oddly hazy. "Last night, I…?"

Mikoto purses her lips. Grand. A lecture first thing in the... mid-afternoon. "I imagine you remember jumping off the balcony. Perhaps next time you can refrain from proving your… physical prowess for the prince?"

Squinting , Kamui pushes herself a little higher on her elbows. "Huh?"

"Prince Marx said you grew very upset after he implied that you could no longer jump from the tops of trees like he remembered you enjoying as a child. Taking this as a physical challenge, instead of a comment on the impropriety of the thing, you promptly jumped off the balcony to prove your point," Mikoto says, with a reproving frown. That… Kamui's head was fuzzy, but that definitely didn't happen. Nor was there any reason for Marx to claim to her mother to remember her as a child when he denied the same thing to her last night. "Apparently, you also displayed a crude hand gesture for him."

Ah. Kamui's mouth curls up into a proud smirk. "Well, he was being an ass shortly, so—"

"He then—rather generously—carried you back to our suite, where you promptly refused to let him carry you into your bedroom." Under Mikoto's reprimanding tone, Kamui sinks her smirk into a flushed scowl.

"It was indecent. Not even Kaze's been in my bedroom at the palace, and he's my bodyguard," Kamui says. She should've known this would happen. Everything she's done since they set foot on Nohrian soil has been wrong. Wrong in Mother's eyes. Wrong in Hinoka's eyes. Wrong in Marx's eyes. Perhaps it's the Nohrian trappings they've dressed her in that lead them to believe she should be held to Nohrian standards instead of Hoshidan ones? "In Hoshido, Marx would be the one being reprimanded for daring to enter a woman's room," Kamui says, tugging off her already loosened corset.

Mikoto watches her drop the corset unceremoniously on the ground, sighing as Kamui works her ballroom gown down her hips next. "We're in Nohr, darling, and Marx is the prince. There's no commanding him like Suzukaze, and you would do well to accept that." Tracing her fingertips over the smooth wood of the table, Mikoto settles back in her cushioned chair. There's something in the distant gaze Mikoto fixes on her that makes Kamui pause, dress now pooled around her knees.

"Mother?"

Shaking her head, Mikoto taps her fingernails against the table with a quick click and a soft smile. The smile has a hint of oddness in, like a sour fruit. "At any rate, Prince Marx placed you on the couch, where you threw a tantrum because he refused to leave unsupervised, tired yourself out, and fell asleep," Mikoto says.

"He was treating me like a child," Kamui says slowly. There's still something curious in the lines of Mikoto's smile, and her fingers have gone back to smoothing over the tabletop at a languid pace. "Marx... Being all condescending with his condescending Nohrian face," Kamui adds in a petulant tone, sure a little teasing will return her mother's smile to normal. Instead, it only pinches her mouth more.

"I wish you would call him Prince Marx, sweetheart." Kamui eases out of her ball dress, eyebrows crinkling to a confused line. Mikoto's voice has a sweet lilt to it, a sweet lilt tinged almost with melancholy. "After we returned, Prince Marx sent for Princess Elise, and she healed your ankle. Which brings us to now."

"And where is everyone now?" Kamui asks. Not that she's eager to face Hinoka's inevitable reprimands or Sakura's disappointment, but it would be a welcome break from her mother's strangeness.

"Tea." Rising from her seat, Mikoto plucks the now empty glass from Kamui's fingers. "Tea which you are to attend."

Snorting, Kamui rises to a seated position. "I'd rather not, if—"

"Neither would I, but alas, we're not in our own home." Sweeping to her feet, Mikoto smooths a hand over Kamui's hair. "Come. I'll help you prepare."

There's still something unfamiliar in her mother's smile. A little twist that's somehow... sad. Like there's something Mikoto knows about her. A secret. Kamui returns the smile with a soft, uncertain one of her own anyways. "I love you."

"And I you." With a delicate sigh, Mikoto leans forward and places a soft kiss on Kamui's forehead. "Sumeragi's innocence runs strong in you, my child. Don't let this castle taint that."

Somehow, being compared to her late father didn't make Kamui feel much better.

* * *

While less crowded than the ballroom last night, the sunroom Kamui is to take her tea in is dotted with little clusters of finely dressed men and women. Servants flit between them, delicate silver platters laden with tea pastries and tea cups balanced at the perfect height for their guests to pluck items from their trays. At least there's no crier, Kamui supposes, and she gets to stand in the sunroom doorway, arm-in-arm with her mother in peace. "Does the king not enjoy a little privacy from time to time?" Kamui hisses.

Mikoto only ignores her quip, instead focused on scanning the sunroom. Nodding to a cluster of nobles, Mikoto nudges Kamui's side. There, just visible above the rest, is a familiar mess of blonde curls. "There's the prince," her mother murmurs. "It would be good for you to become comfortable with him. Try to apologize for last night as well."

"I'd rather subject myself to one of Tsubaki's training sessions than try to hold conversation with that expressionless man." Kamui tries to wrench her arm from Mikoto's grasp, but her grip is iron. "I don't want to marry him, so I don't see why I should pretend like I do."

"Have you paused to consider that he may not want to marry you either?"

"That… It doesn't answer my objection." Kamui glances to Marx. The prince scowls off into space, surrounded by a crowd of finely dressed men and women. He couldn't… He was too cold and unexpressive for a lover. Romance was reserved for people with passion and emotion, who swept up into their arms and kissed like there was no one else. Marx couldn't have some lover he had turned aside for this. A woman sets her hand on his arm, and Marx shifts. Turning her eyes away, Kamui catches his for the briefest, longest moment.

In her peripherals, Kamui can see the prince detangling himself from his crowd with growing dread. Surely he couldn't be eager to seek her out after last night? "I'm going to find Hinoka and Sakura," Mikoto says.

"Mother, no—" Kamui stretches out an arm, but Mikoto sways away, as graceful as a flower bending in the wind. Staring helplessly into the crowd, Kamui hunts for any familiar face. There by one of the windows is Aqua, and Kamui starts for her with almost desperate enthusiasm.

"Princess." Marx's hand is light on her arm, but the glove on her bare skin still makes her tense. Kamui turns to him, swallowing down the split-second inspiration to claim healing staff related illness and flee. Though he approached her, Marx doesn't look the least bit happy to see her, mouth screwed into some line that might be intended to be a... not-scowl. Combined with the perpetual v of his eyebrows however, it just makes him look like he was stabbed in the foot. "You look lovely."

She looks like one of them, Kamui wants to say, trussed up in another clingy dress. It swoops down to her lower back, revealing far too much skin for a corset—thank the gods—but at least there's enough fabric in the front to hide her dragon stone, even if the slightest agitation of her temper is going to make the stone glow through the flimsy dress. Marx blinks down at her expectantly. Right. She had to say something. "You, too," Kamui says.

"Lovely?" Marx asks. His face is just as angry neutral as it was when he greeted her and when he complimented her and the night before when he was busy insulting her. Squinting at his expressionless face, Kamui struggles to determine if Marx is insulted or attempting to tease her. Either way, she doesn't want it.

"As lovely as a blushing maid." Kamui tries to insert the largest amount of dry sass into her response as she can, but Marx either doesn't notice or doesn't care because instead of being put-off, his mouth quirks up ever so slightly. Please gods, let him not think they're engaging in whatever dull form of conversation he considers banter. "I assumed you'd devote more time to Hinoka or Sakura today after gracing me with so much of your presence last night."

"As did I, but Father wishes to speak to you, and I am to be present for your discussion," Marx says. A little twinge of nerves stirs in Kamui's gut. Someone's impending engagement to the stone prince felt far more distant when she didn't have to stare at the man who arranged it all. Unlike Marx, Garon wasn't even rumored to be... not unkind. Threading an arm through hers, Marx remains impassive, despite Kamui's light flinch. "Come. It would not be good to keep him waiting longer than need be."

"Just as he greeted me so promptly at the ball last night?" Kamui asks.

Even if she truly wanted to resist, Marx's arm is tight on hers, forcing her to follow him through the crowd. "I hope you understand that particular sentiment is not something to vocalize in Father's presence."

So she was just to let the Nohrians continue turning a blind eye to the way their king treated her people then? Kamui lets out a petulant little huff, ruffling her pale hair. Glancing up to the prince, Kamui just catches the little flicker as he turns his gaze from her. Well, she shan't pretend he wasn't just watching her. "What?" Kamui asks.

"Nothing." Marx shifts his lock on her arm, heavy fabric of his dress coat rough on her skin.

"You were... eyeing me," Kamui says. Her childish pout is lost on the prince, who is now rather pointedly eyeing everything except her. "If it were truly nothing, then—"

"Well, you were eyeing me not more than a moment ago—"

"I had reasons." She still can't imagine Marx with a lover. Maybe sitting on the edge of a bed and scowling at some unfortunate girl. Or perhaps ruining the mood with his bland mouth as he undid her corset strings. At least his fingers were warm, and Kamui supposed his callouses might... feel... "I-I had reasons."

"As did I," Marx says, with a slightly puzzled frown.

Kamui shoots him a side-long glare. It was his fault she was briefly... flustered. "Lewd reasons, probably."

"You're so quick to attach indecency to my gaze that I can't help but wonder if you're the one with intentions, li—Ah, there's Father." Marx nods to her left, and the distraction is almost welcome. Garon reclines at a long table, deserted but for another man, seated on his right. At least, Kamui thinks he's a man. Garon's companion has a face that would be the envy of the ladies of the Hoshidan court, but for his waxy complexion and greasy hair. His clothing though is the fitted Nohrian... Kamui isn't sure what to call it, as they don't wear anything similar in Hoshido. But Marx is wearing it, and Marx is very definitively a man. "At his side is his... adviser, Iago."

Kamui lets Marx steer them to Garon's table. Swallowing down her nerves, Kamui tilts her chin up, mirroring Marx's proud, high head. Even faking confidence is oddly comforting. "Father," Marx says, nodding to the king as they approach his table. There are no chairs for her or Marx, and instead they are clearly meant to stand across from the king and watch as he plucks another pastry from his silver tea tray. Before Kamui can open her mouth, Marx's hand settles on the small of her back, gloved fingers light on her bare skin. The unspoken request for her to stay silent is there in his fingertips.

Garon stares at her from across the table, beady eyes twinkling with a light that only makes him look… hungry. Kamui narrows her eyes as Iago leans into the arm of his chair and presses his mouth to Garon's ear. Even watching someone else's lips so close to that monster's greying skin makes her stomach churn. "She holds her head far too high for a mutt. Wouldn't you agree, milord?" Iago purrs. With the way he looks to her and Garon's lips curl into a smile, Kamui can only assume the thin snake of an adviser didn't realize her mutt's ears could pick up on his whisper.

"A mutt, am I?" Kamui growls. "I'd watch your mouth, snake, else this mutt's teeth will latch round your throat."

Marx goes rigid at her side so quickly Kamui is almost surprised Garon somehow misses it. His hand stiffens on the small of her back, gloved fingers pressing ever so slightly against her frame. "I apologize, Iago, Father. The princess had a terrible reaction to Princess Elise's—"

"Does your babbling serve any purpose, child?" Garon asks, without sparing even a glance for his son. With a shake of his head, Marx settles silently by Kamui's side. So Garon spared no kindness even for his own children. How... cold. "How sharp does your dragon heritage leave your hearing?"

"According to my research, you should be able to hear at several lengths what most men can only hear at close distance, but then, all pre-existing text is purely speculation and my research subjects... flawed," Iago says. Kamui glances to the prince, but if he was a flawed research subject, nothing in Marx's face admits to it. "To get a testimonial from your lips would be a break-through in the field of cross-breed research."

Kamui resists the urge to lean away from the slimy man. His leering smile widens anyways, like he can sense her discomfort. "I'd rather you not call me cross-breed, like I'm some exotic beast," Kamui says.

Iago has the nerve to snort at her. "Well, your mother was human and your father, obviously not, so—"

"Sumeragi was my father," Kamui says. Was. That little word clenches in her throat, but Kamui spits it at Iago and Garon anyways.

Iago settles back in his chair like a self-satisfied, smug lil pig. "Not by blood, which is the only detail that truly ma—"

"Did you invite me here to insult the bond between me and my late father and liken me to the foal born of a horse and pegasus, or was there perhaps some actual, unoffensive topic you wished to discuss with me?" Kamui flinches as Marx smooths his palm flat over the small of her back. It's oddly... calming, building some scrap of solidarity between them.

Iago scribbles something in a dark notebook while Garon only studies her across the table. Resisting the urge to squirm, Kamui scowls at the king's face, picking wrinkle after wrinkle to silently curse. "I must admit, though we invited you, I was rather surprised that you came with your sisters," Garon says, after an eternity of silence. His words are laced with some sort of subtext Kamui can't understand and doesn't care to either.

"You've been increasing the number of troops on our borders for months." Kamui narrows her eyes at the king, who only sips at his tea, unfazed. "You didn't invite. You threatened."

"I believe I sent your brother a rather gracious missive via unarmed courier laden with traditional gifts for your people," Garon says. Iago shakes his head with a condescending sigh. "If Lord Ryouma thought that was a threat, then I greatly question his diplomatic skills."

"King Ryouma," Kamui snaps. "He's King Ryouma, and I am not going to stand idly by while you insult him."

"My, my… I'm feeling slightly threatened," Iago purrs.

"Should I write it to you as gracious missive via an unarmed courier laden with traditional gifts for your people instead?" Anger turns her voice shriller, catching the attention of nearby nobles. Let them hear of their king's misdoings, Kamui decides.

"Father, perhaps we might discuss whatever you summoned Kamui to discuss?" Marx asks. Kamui can hear the tightness in his voice, but gods, she doesn't care. Her dragonstone burns against her chest again, and despite the very pressing concern of the pale glow washing through her dress, Kamui doesn't care about that either. Ryouma was not to be insulted. Not unjustly by swill.

Garon plucks another powdered sugar dusted pastry from his tea tray and takes a delicate, lady-like bite in slow, contemplative thought. Then his gaze shoots up to her, like he had truly been considering Marx's question and lit upon an answer. "No, no. I'm actually quite curious to hear a defense of Lord Ryouma. They're so very hard to come by," Garon says.

Her dragonstone burns. "Y-You a—"

Marx's other hand wraps around her forearm as Kamui raises it to slap for the king. "We're all well aware that Ryouma is a young king, Father. Surely, that—"

"King Garon took the throne at the age of twelve, and then went on to crush the rebellion of the northern lords, unifying our glorious nation as the Nohr we know today," Iago says. Marx's hand tightens round her arm, despite Kamui making no move towards the advisor. "Youth is no excuse, and you would do well to remember that, prince."

Marx's fingers curl against her back, finger tips tense on her skin. Kamui doesn't even care for the man, but to see him silenced only builds more of her righteous anger. "He's the only one at this table who's treated me with a modicum of respect. If you were to visit my nation, Ryouma would never presume to disrespect you in the manner you have me, my sisters, my mother, and even your own son."

Garon snorts. "When you treat a man with respect, he begins to think he's your equal. Then he begins to wonder why you rule over him, and then, he plots against you," Garon says. He pops the last bite of pastry into his mouth with a bestial ferocity that makes Kamui cringe. Garon's mouth widens into an almost predatory grin as he spies her horrified disgust. "Our spies told me that you and your brother are just as naïve as the late king… I imagine you've never wondered what happened to him."

"Fine man in fine health, King Sumeragi," Iago says. A sly smile plays at his lips as his long fingers stroke the edge of his tea cup.

"Father." Marx's voice is twinged with the vaguest hint of pleading undercurrent. Kamui glowers between the three men, dragonstone a flame against her breast, burning only hotter as they talk ridiculous circles around the passing of the late king.

"You don't think it odd how mysteriously, dreadfully ill he fell a few months ago?" Garon leans across the table, leering at her over steepled fingers. "And how peculiar it was that nothing your healers could prescribe helped the man?"

Gods, Kamui loathes this man, besmirching her father's death even further. Like playing matchmaker with his daughters over his grave wasn't shaming enough. "I don't understand what you're implying," Kamui hisses.

"Assassination." Garon looks almost giddy as Kamui's mouth drops.

"Y-You're just saying things. Things you know nothing of." But Garon... wasn't wrong. No. No. Garon was wrong. No one would... No one would murder her father. Kamui's hands ball into tight fists, clenching even harder as her head pounds and her dragonstone flames. She wouldn't have let anyone murder her father.

"Your brother will likely go the same way," Garon says.

Iago leers at her. "Within the year, unless your mother makes the circumstances surrounding the late king's circumstances very clear to him. But then, Lady Mikoto didn't divulge that to you, apparently, so—"

"Silence!" With a few scandalized gasps, the sunroom obeys Kamui's hysterical cry. Her head throbs, her skin burns, and her dragonstone lights through her dress. Kamui can feel her blood bubbling. Garon, Iago, and her ire are pushing her to transform in the middle of the damn sunroom, and they would deserve it for speaking on Ryouma so cruelly.

Iago leans forward as Kamui reels back into Marx's arm with a dazed growl. The walls of the sunroom have already begun to tilt and spin. She can't even find his slimy face as it likely leers at her. "Your dress… That glow…"

"Let us see the dragonstone, child," Garon commands, hazy and distant. Like a dragon would to listen to a mere king, Kamui thinks with a snort.

"Would you like that?!" Kamui cries, clutching at her dragonstone over her dress. Garon stares at her hand, plainly trying to see what's underneath. "I-I'm not—Not after Ryouma—You just—" Her head is filled with bubbling heat, turning her words into a sputtering incoherent mess. Well, her actions shall speak for her soon enough.

"Kamui." Marx's voice is soft against her sensitive ear. "You can't."

"F-Fuck you, prince." She doesn't mean it, Kamui supposes distantly, but her gums burn and her heart races and the anger that spurred her transformation is now only fueled by it.

"Sakura is staring," Marx breathes. His words lodge the tiniest little sliver of ice in her inflamed belly. Kamui tries to search the crowd for her little sister, probably terrified, maybe disappointed—Kamui isn't sure which is worse—but their faces are a blurred, peach-colored smear.

"Fine," Kamui snarls. Wrenching herself from the prince's grasp, Kamui lurches into Garon's table, sending the furniture sliding several inches with her inhuman strength. Accidental, but still fortuitous, and Kamui grins at Garon's panicked gasp.

"Sakura, Kamui. Concentrate." Marx's hand tugs on her elbow, and Kamui lets him pull her into his chest. Without his help, she's almost blind, eyes struggling between her human vision and sharpening to her draconic sight.

"You shouldn't leave a king's presence without his express permission," Iago says.

"She's clearly a danger to the king in this state. I'm escorting her out," Marx says.

"I could rip you both from limb to limb, snake." Iago stumbles out of his chair as Kamui snaps at him. A giggle bubbles out before she can stop it, as her dragon half basks in Iago's terror. The guilt is instant because somewhere Sakura is watching. "M-Marx, now."

His hands may well be feathers on her skin, his grip nothing compared to her dragon's might, but Kamui follows Marx's touch as he leads her out of the sunroom. Unlike last night in the ballroom, Kamui knows what the nobles are thinking. Her nose, even sharper now that she was struggling with her transformation, can smell their fear. She growls at a few as they pass, their little terrified squeals only feeding her bestial need for dominance. And the sick shame in her stomach. Sakura, Hinoka, and her mother were all watching.

* * *

Marx releases her into the hall, shutting the glass doors behind them. "You're transforming." Kamui groans because of course he couldn't just leave her in the hall. Staggering back against the nearest wall, Kamui rolls away from him.

"Trying… not to actually." Kamui presses her forehead against the stone wall with gritted teeth. She can already feel the burning, tickling sensation of her canines growing. If she can't calm herself fast, the other teeth are sure to follow. Marx hovers by the door, peeking out through the glass panes like he's searching the room for something. "C-Can you please just—"

"Come with me." Marx heaves her up by the forearm.

The cool air and escape from the crowd has already begun to sooth her temper, but Marx's touch still flares her anger. "I'd rather n-n—"

"Iago shall snoop around here soon enough. He's already squinting this way," Marx says. He releases the grasp on her arm anyways. Kamui can't smell fear on the prince, and why he released her, Kamui's head is too woozy to interpret. Damn rock man. "If Iago doesn't motivate you, your mother and sisters were glancing to the door before even I stepped after you."

"Th-Then I'll just… walk this way then. I can see again. I don't need your help." Kamui sweeps her dress up around her knees and stomps down the hall. Scowling at her flickering, torchlight shadow, Kamui counts the tiles as she storms. One. Two. Three. Marx's shoes clip after her, far enough away that if she were human, Kamui probably couldn't here them, and the little clip-clap of his boots only pisses her the fuck off. A dangerous place to be when she's struggling with an emotion-fuelled transformation. "I can hear you, Marx."

The man sighs, and gods, even that makes her furious. Her teeth ache, and her head practically screams, shrieking for her to crack right there and end the prince. One little transformation, and no more arranged marriage. "I'm just waiting for you to anger collapse in the hall so I can help you somewhere safer," Marx says. Kamui can hear the slow reasonableness of his tone, building the ire in her belly.

"I don't—" Kamui growls, whimpering as her canines begin to widen. If she was designed as a half-breed—a mutt, some part of her hisses—then why could her genetics not make this transformation less painful? "I appreciate you including that scrap of truth in the lies you told my mother," Kamui hisses.

Marx's footsteps quicken as he tries to catch up to her side. "I couldn't be truthful with your mother if I lied to everyone else."

"Well, apparently, my mother is rather good at keeping secrets. And lying. A-And—" Kamui clutches at her head with a groan. Stumbling into the wall, she whimpers as her gums burn. Legs weak, Kamui slumps to sit on the ground.

Marx is at her side in a heartbeat, on his knees close enough that her sensitive ears can catch his breathing. "I can get you a healer or vulneries or… or… blankets or whatever you need."

Kamui shakes her head. "What I need is to go home. Ryouma could be in danger right now, a-a-and—"

"King Ryouma will be fine," Marx says, in a slow, soothing lilt. His eyes are red like hers, Kamui notes in dull fascination as he stares at her. Dragon's blood must run stronger in him. Marx doesn't look away, even as the pain and discomfort of her transformation makes her squirm.

"You heard your father and his advisor. My brother could be dead at any time." Unbearable heat washes over her body in waves, worsening as Kamui dwells on Ryouma. He was so vibrant and youthful and alive. Kamui's breath hitches. "Wh-What if he's already—"

Marx shakes his head, freeing a stray curl from his circlet. In a tentative motion, Marx eases his dress coat off his shoulders. His eyes stay locked with hers, and though Kamui keeps that eye contact, she can see the tightening and stretching of Marx's shirt over his chest in her peripherals. More heat floods her face, and Kamui pointedly attributes it to her transformation, rather than the intensity of Marx's gaze as he undresses. "Father—He just… Your brother. The two of you are known to be rather close," Marx says.

Kamui tenses as Marx stretches out his arms, freezing outright as he pulls her to sit away from the wall. Wrapping his coat around her shoulders, Marx pushes Kamui to rest back against the stone. Despite looking stifling on the outside, the inner material is silky, cool on her heated skin. Something about the coat smells oddly familiar... a little bit like cinnamon and heat and somehow... Ryouma. Kamui presses her nose into the collar. Under the scent of Marx's far too fancy cologne, mixed with something oddly floral and tea from the party, is that smell. Kamui peeks out from under the coat to spy Marx staring at her, lips ever-so-slightly parted into the softest o.

"It smells like..." Ryouma. And Takumi. Kamui tugs the coat a little closer round her shoulders. "Never mind. It's a side-effect of the transformation. Ryouma and I trained together since I was old enough to swing a stick. I know him better than anyone," Kamui says. "Your father knows nothing of him."

Kamui nuzzles back into Marx's coat. Whether it's the familiar scent or the comfort of the over-sized garment, it soothes her pained gums. "Father knows that the two of you are rather close." Marx looks to her pointedly, but head clouded with pain and moronic, bestial dragon blood occupied with identifying the smell of his jacket, Kamui can't decipher what Marx means.

"Well, if your father knew that and he continued to criticize him so unfairly in my presence, then your father is an ass." Kamui grimaces as the tips of her fingers begin to burn. Tightening her grip round Marx's coat, Kamui wills herself calm, but the scent of whatever it was reminding her of Ryouma only pulls her thoughts back to her smiling, affectionate older brother. "And to so predict his death—"

"Kamui, those words mean nothing." Her name rolls off Marx's lips in a soft lilt, at odds with the stern cut of his face. "Father used your attachment to your brother as a means to an end."

As a means to an end. To play with someone's emotions like that was far crueler than physical harm. Kamui can feel her eyes growing hot and gritty, but she forces the tears back down. She doesn't want anyone to see them. "About my father, though, he's—"

"Why would my father know about the circumstances surrounding your father? He cited no proof to you. Nor is there any reason to believe King Ryouma faces the same supposed fate." Marx's voice is heavy and reasonable, almost as calming as Ryouma and Sumeragi's.

"Then why would he say such horrible things if they were lies?" Kamui asks. Her eyes were getting teary again, sticky and watery at the corners. Kamui snuggles into Marx's coat, sniffing at the familiar unknown scent and praying for her tears to magically vanish.

"He… Father…" Marx looks down helplessly at her. So there was something. Kamui watches him, shiny eyes peeking out over the top of his coat.

"A-and Iago mentioned my mother. That she might know something of my father's passing." Was that her mother's secret, Kamui wonders. Or was there some other reason she had been behaving so strangely before tea? Her mother could be keeping even more than just the one secret from her. Kamui told her everything.

"Iago is a snake. Whatever comes from his mouth, neither you nor your sisters should trust," Marx says. It spits out, uncharacteristically vehement from the prince. Frown deepening, the man only scowls at her bare feet. So they had... a history. Unsure if she should pull the prince from his thoughts, Kamui sighs into his coat.

Dragon. That's what the fabric smells like. Buried under all the artificial scent is the heated musky scent of dragon blood. Male dragon blood. Somehow that distinction meant little in Takumi and Ryouma, but in Marx... For some reason, it leaves her sleepy. Sleepy and safe. "W-we should go back to tea," Kamui says. If they stay in the hall any longer, she could doze on the spot. Marx nods, sweeping to his feet in a smooth motion. Ignoring his proffered hand, Kamui rises after him.

* * *

The walk is long and silent, almost peaceful. When they arrive back at the sunroom, Kamui is delighted to find it almost deserted. Perhaps, if she's lucky, Mikoto's already gone, and she can dodge the rest of tea time. Glancing up at Marx, Kamui shakes his coat off her shoulders. She holds it out for him, avoiding his gaze as he looks to her. "Thank you," Kamui says. Her face, for some stupid, inexplicable reason, feels slightly hot. "People... usually... They aren't so..." Kamui shakes her head. What was she even doing? Thanking the prince for being kind to her while she almost transformed?

Marx takes the coat back in his arms, fingertips warm over hers for the briefest moment. She can't feel his callouses through the gloves. "Tomorrow, you should go to the library. I'll speak to one of my siblings about escorting you," Marx says.

"I've never really been a book person."

"Iago is a book person." Kamui looks to Marx, but his face reveals nothing. "He has a shelf aside in the library, reserved for him. The titles alone are an interesting read."

"You… want me to read his books?" What could she possibly learn from those, Kamui wants to add.

"I never said that." Marx leans down, pressing his mouth against her hair. "But yes. And be... discrete." His words are warm, ruffling her hair with a hot breath, rolled off his tongue with a lilt that could almost be flirtatious. Flirtatious if she read into things too much. The prince was as stone-faced and inexpressive as a rock. He wasn't interested in romance. "Perhaps I'll spy you there, little princess."

Kamui nods, voice oddly stuck in her throat. She stares as Marx pulls away, ever so slightly flushed and confused, but watching his back shrink down the hall does nothing to ease the strange bubbly feeling in her stomach.

* * *

Per usual, I love hearing your feedback and pairing requests! Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Heyyy! So guess who's back with a really long chapter! Tbh, it fell in that awkward length of a little too long to be one chapter but not long enough to be two, so I was a little generous with my line breaks this time around.

 **To answer some questions posed by y'all:**

 **walkswithwheels:** I'll be staying away from about all canon plot related things, even the ones that can kinda be seen a mile away, so no canon!Garon issues. That said, I've got a backstory and rationale for his actions that I promise to make clear. Beyond kinda using the game's bad guys as my own bad guys (which you can see a mile away in-game) and the same backstory, I'm planning to stay away from the game for the people avoiding plot spoilers. Soooo, I'll be taking things in a direction the game doesn't really touch on.

 **Guest:** We actually get a lil bit of everyone else today! Not so much Marx interaction with new people, but I can promise some Marx-Hinoka and Kamui-Camilla issues in the future, as well as Aqua and Leon slowly moving into a more prominent role. There are just sooooo many characters so I'm trying to ease them in a lil at a time and make sure they get to do more than just cameo. Suzukaze, Lazward, and some combination of Felicia/Flora/Joker should get appearances in the near future, too.

 **My lovely reviewers/fave-ers/followers:** Thank you so much for the wonderful words and show of support! I love reading what you guys write me and/or just seeing the little 'fave'/'follow' notification, so thanks again.

Hope you all enjoy!

* * *

Kamui hovers outside the Hoshidan quarters, dallying around the doorway the same way one plays with a bandage instead of ripping it off. Pressing her ear up to the door, Kamui listens for a hint of whatever conversation might be transpiring beyond. Nothing. Which could be bad… or perhaps good. No crying or shouting, true when it came to yelling she was the most frequent culprit—Kamui shakes her head. And drops it on the door with a heavy sigh. Almost transforming in front of an entire tea party. She was so fucking screwed. Lifting her head up, Kamui pushes open the door.

Eyes catching on Sakura and Hinoka waiting for her on the couch, Kamui can feel her stomach plummet through her feet. The atmosphere is suffocating, awkward and made only more awkward when Hinoka doesn't so much as glance to her at the sound of the door clicking shut. Once Kamui finally manages to pull her hand from the door knob, Sakura slides off the couch. "Are you okay?" she asks softly.

Kamui settles for a hum of confirmation, untrusting of the firmness of her voice. Like she can sense the guilt and fear thickening Kamui's throat, Sakura laces their fingers together. Somehow the warm softness of her sister's hands loosens the lump in Kamui's chest. "Marx… ah… He helped me calm down, actually. Um… So I'm fine now, I think. You don't need to worry."

"We don't need to worry?" Hinoka's rough growl makes Sakura flinch. Arms crossed tightly over her chest, Hinoka glowers at Kamui.

"H-Hinoka… Yelling won't—"

"Well, talking didn't work, because if it had, she would've remembered to keep her head down, like I told her yesterday, and not attacked the king and his advisor today," Hinoka snaps. Anger flushing her face, Hinoka curls her hands into even tighter fists. "Mother is currently in the throne room begging—and I mean begging, Kamui—King Garon not to toss you in the palace dungeons."

Mother. Kamui swallows down the wave of anger and confusion threatening to wash up her throat. Somehow, she was going to have to work up the nerve to confront Mother on the matter of Father's death. "Did Mother say how long she would be gone?" Kamui asks.

"She was hoping naught more—"

"Do you not understand what I said?" Hinoka's snarl slices through Sakura's soft answer, shredding the girl's sentence to ribbons. "You, Kamui. In prison. Mother is fighting to keep you out of a cell, and your only concern is how long she'll be gone? Do you have no care for your own well-being at all?"

"I-I do, Hinoka, but I just—I need to talk to her." Marx had said that Iago and Garon's words about her father and brother had no reason to hold truth in them, but the feeling that her mother was lying to her is still there, niggling deeper and deeper into her chest the longer she's forced to wait for their confrontation. "I… I think Ryouma is in danger, and if he is—"

"You're in danger, Kamui!" Hinoka rockets to her feet. "Ryouma's a world away, in a castle he rules, surrounded by his personal guard, with a sword ever at his side. A-And you would rather worry over his own life than yours. It's like you don't even understand your own position, and I don't know how to explain it such that it actually seeps into that naïve head of yours."

Kamui pulls her hands from Sakura's. "I'm not naïve. Garon o-or Iago or someone played some sick game with me in the sunroom. I know." Hinoka doesn't need to know Marx told her that, Kamui decides. She doesn't want to give her glowering sister an excuse to only fume further.

"I-It's not just them," Hinoka snaps. "A-And you don't—You don't—" Hinoka tosses her hands up in the air with a frustrated growl.

"I… Hinoka..." At Kamui's first light step towards her, Hinoka whips her sharp glare up from the floor to Kamui's face.

"Just forget it." Hinoka balls her hands into fists and storms to her room, leaving Kamui to stare after her, feet glued to the floor. Hinoka's bedroom door rattles in its hinges as the girl slams it shut. The quiet that settles after is heavy, weighing down on Kamui's shoulders like a pall. Behind the closed door, Kamui can hear wet sniffling. Hinoka always was an angry crier.

"I should probably—"

Sakura's hand catches Kamui's before she can take a second step towards Hinoka's quarters. "M-Maybe it would be good to give her some space instead," Sakura says. Hinoka will cry herself to sleep like that though, Kamui wants to say, and they both know that she secretly hates how red that turns her eyes.

"I…" Kamui trails off uselessly. It wasn't about red eyes. The swirling guilt clogging up her chest would only be resolved by Hinoka's forgiveness. Sakura tightens her grip on Kamui's hand. And asking that was selfish, at the moment. "I thought… She said that the issue was Garon and Iago, but at the end… it seemed it was something else. Do you…"

Sakura's gaze slides down to their feet. "It's probably not my place to say," she mumbles. "F-Father is gone… a-and Ryouma and Father were close. The closest, probably. If you were gone, too, I… I think Ryouma—and everyone b-but very much Ryouma—would be sad again."

"They'd be sad if anyone was gone," Kamui says, kneeling down and tugging Sakura into a gentle hug. Her hair smells like home, a hint of flowers and sunshine. "Ryouma and Takumi and everyone will be sad."

"Hinoka d-doesn't think the prince w-will marry me, though. Prince M-Marx pr-promised me he-he—" Sakura breaks off into wet sniffles. Another easy crier, in a family of easy criers. Scrubbing at her glassy eyes, Sakura hiccups against Kamui's shoulder. "I-I don't want to s-say it. I ch-changed—" Sakura hiccups again.

"Then you don't have to say it," Kamui murmurs. Smoothing slow circles over Sakura's back, Kamui sighs against her sister's shoulder. Usually, one of her sisters crying brought her to tears as well, but Kamui can't seem to make her eyes so much as water. Sakura and Hinoka… they were keeping things from her, too. Like Mother.

"Th-Thank you," Sakura mumbles, muffled by Kamui's frame. Hands light on her shoulders, Sakura pushes away from Kamui's embrace. "I… I think I'm g-going to rest, t-too. Um… M-Mother thought she'd be back soon." The girl almost scampers away, hands rubbing at her tears. Kamui waits until Sakura's door clicks shut before striding over to the couch and collapsing back on the crimson cushions. Nearly transforming AND turning both her sisters to tears. A day full of accomplishment.

Marx had promised Sakura… a mystery of some sort. Carding her fingers through her hair, Kamui plays with the pale waves. Did he just tell them all different things, Kamui wonders. Somehow… that makes their library venture feel less… special. Something digs at her belly, not the little suspicion of her mother or the guilt from Hinoka, but something heavy and sickening all the same. Something unfamiliar.

Kamui flops over to lie down on the couch. Curling into the smallest ball possible doesn't sooth her stomach. Whatever the issue, it was this castle's fault. No one kept secrets from her in Hoshido. No one smelled like dragons in strange, confusing ways, and no one turned her belly fluttery. No one had horrible tales of assassinations of her father and Ryouma, and everyone knew her father was Sumeragi, not some man she had never so much as met. She wants to go home.

Kamui lets her eyes drift shut with a wavering sigh. If she closes her eyes—She still can't pretend that this is her bed in Hoshido. Everything smells like dust and stone, and instead of the chirping of birds, all her sharp ears can catch is stiff silence. Lonely. Nohr is lonely and cold and filled with sad, cold people that played nasty mind games and kept unnecessary secrets. Kamui sighs into the couch. Someone's footsteps echo in the hall, in the familiar rhythm of her mother's gait. At the sound of the door swinging open, Kamui cranes her neck to peek at the doorway.

If her mother is surprised to see her, Kamui can't read it on her face. Mikoto shuts the door to their suite with a gentle smile. "Where are your sisters, sweetheart?" Mikoto asks.

"In their rooms," Kamui says. She watches her mother slip over to the couch, graceful and poised as a dancer. With all her unwavering calm, her mother would probably be an excellent liar and secret keeper, Kamui decides. Mikoto settles on the couch by Kamui's head and sighs. When her mother sounds so tired… She can't just toss accusations. "Am I to be arrested?"

Mikoto shakes her head. "The king decided you weren't to be blamed for your reaction. It was to be expected, given your blood."

"I imagine he worded it in a much more insulting manner," Kamui says, tugging her knees closer to her chest.

Mikoto sighs and threads a soft hand through Kamui's hair. "They don't know you. They don't understand." Her touch is warm and soft, smoothing slow circles that rustle her hair. Kamui wants to let her eyes drift shut, but the niggling suspicion is back, gnawing at her at her belly.

"Garon said things to me." Kamui stares down at the hem of her mother's dress. The flowing purple fabric pools across the wooden paneling like a lake at the bottom of a waterfall. "Do you… want to know what they were?"

"Stewing over harsh words never did anyone any good," Mikoto says. Her voice is calm and reasonable. Kamui had always thought that unyielding calm was how her mother earned her notoriety as a deft political negotiator and revered queen… but perhaps… perhaps not.

Kamui's fingers play through her hair, twiddling at the pale waves. She could do this. She could force down the hesitation and doubt to prod just a little harder. "Hinoka and Sakura—D-Did you know they were keeping things from me?"

Mikoto hums softly. "So that's what this is about…" Kamui tilts her head to peek up at her mother, but Mikoto only shakes her head and continues petting Kamui's hair. "You're not the only one hurt, darling. Hinoka and Sakura are just as confused by your actions as you are by their's."

Kamui jerks up to a sitting position. Her mother's hands slide to her lap, moving to smooth a stray wrinkle in the otherwise undisturbed fabric. "I'm the only one not keeping things from people o-or lying or-or—"

"You've barely spent a moment with them since we've arrived. And when they do see you, you're in the arms of the prince," Mikoto says. She raises a finger as Kamui opens her mouth to retort. With a pouty scowl, Kamui shuts her lips and crosses her arms over her chest. There was nothing between her and Marx, which she would be sure to explain to Hinoka and Sakura both. "Today… They're used to being the ones to sooth you when you're… upset and coax you from the room. You didn't so much as call to them."

"You know it's hard for me to keep my head like that. And they know that, too," Kamui says. Her mother raises her eyebrows. "Fine. I figured they'd be disappointed at me, so I just let Marx lead me out. He was the closest… and the only one who wouldn't have lectured me on losing my temper with the king."

"You don't know that." Mikoto leans over and rests a hand over one of Kamui's own. "You know, I was by their side when Prince Marx led you out. Hinoka and Sakura were worried sick."

"W-Well, they've been keeping secrets from me, too," Kamui says.

Mikoto places a soft kiss to Kamui's forehead. "It doesn't work like that, sweetheart." Mikoto pulls away, trailing a gentle thumb along Kamui's cheek. Her eyes are like melted chocolate, filled with sweet, melting warmth. "I'm afraid I have to leave you now. The king granted me a short moment to come check on you, but that moment is spent. Perhaps you should think a little on what I told you while I'm gone."

"Wait, I—" Kamui catches her mother's arm as she rises from the couch, but Mikoto detangles herself with a bittersweet, affectionate smile. She hadn't asked any of the questions she wanted answered. Kamui stares helplessly at the fourth back to walk away from her today. "Mother, I still need to speak to—"

"Just… ruminate, darling," Mikoto says, fingers resting on the doorknob to the hall. "I should be back tonight, and you're under strict orders to stay in this suite until I've returned. We can talk about this more after dinner."

"No, Mother, don't—" But the door swings shut on Kamui's outstretched arm. And stays shut for hours and hours, just like both her sisters' bedroom doors stay shut. Kamui curls herself back up on the couch and stares blankly at the floor.

* * *

She has a strange dream, that much Kamui remembers. A little too warm, a little too close, and heavy with the familiar scent of spice. Picking at her breakfast, Kamui finds the longer she dwells over it, the more her appetite disappears, swallowed by the growing mass of butterflies in her stomach. Definitely a side effect of sleeping on the couch, Kamui decides, not… not anything else. "You should eat," Hinoka says, pausing from her own toast to nudge Kamui's elbow. "It's unhealthy, collapsing as frequently as you have since we've arrived here. You don't want to be hauled away on someone's arm again today, do you?"

That was… a solid point, actually. Given the current trend, the arm she would most likely be hauled away on was attached to the man botching her appetite. With a weak smile for Hinoka, Kamui shovels a generous spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth. After yesterday's… discussion and this morning's pointed avoidance of the subject, being particularly agreeable seems like the best apology. "Mother says we've a free day, today," Sakura says, hands wrapped around a mug of tea. "So I was thinking… perhaps there's a training grounds o-or something…?"

Kamui slows her chewing as Sakura trails off in an unspoken question. "You want to train?"

"N-No, um…" Sakura squirms in the loveseat, fingers curling and uncurling around her mug. "I was thinking it might be good for you. Exercise r-relieves stress and keeps you happy so…"

Kamui tries to smile, but it's a little sloppy with her mouth full of oatmeal. "You don't need to worry 'bout me, today. A free day means a day free from Garon and his lackey." Hinoka frowns across her half-eaten muffin. Right. She was supposed to be somehow... not insulting towards the horrid king. Well, they would have to consider that a work in progress. "U-Um, besides, I…" Kamui sets down her bowl and glances between her sisters. There would be no easy way to explain she had plans with Marx, not after everything her sisters and mother had told her yesterday. And after Marx telling her to be discrete. And with the thought of lying making her nauseous. "I-I think we should um…"

Hinoka's metallic spoon drops against the side of the bowl, ringing against the china. "Do you already have plans, Kamui?" Hinoka asks, eyes narrowing.

Sakura stares, wide-eyed, at the pair. She can't lie to either of them, Kamui decides, Marx's instructions be damned. "Y-Yes."

"With who?" Sakura asks. The girl's voice wavers over her steaming mug.

"I… I was told not to tell," Kamui says. Perhaps she could keep just that little bit secret. Kamui smiles. Stiffly.

"With Prince Marx." Hinoka's voice sours. Leaning off the couch, Hinoka dumps her bowl on the table with an unceremonious china clatter. "Kamui, you shouldn't—"

Before Hinoka can finish her admonition, the door to their Hoshidan suite swings open. "Good morning. I hope I'm not intruding," Aqua says, swaying through the doorway. Kamui doesn't remember meeting her all those years ago in Hoshido, when Prince Marx the Obnoxious but Perhaps Not Too Obnoxious After All was still a sniveling lump. Either way, the Nohrian princess had grown up into a beautiful woman, an overabundance of grace and calm complimenting her fine features. Aqua reminds her of Mother, actually, Kamui decides. Except Mother couldn't be bothered to wish them good morning.

Sakura slides to her feet with a little dip of a curtsey. "Good morning, Princess Aqua."

Soft hint of a smile curving her lips, Aqua waves a slender hand. "Please relax. You needn't worry over me like the royal family proper." Sakura nods, scrambling back to her seat with shy enthusiasm. "I'm actually here to fetch your sister. Princess Kamui, are you ready for a tour of the library?"

Kamui shrinks under Sakura and Hinoka's stares. As Kamui opens her mouth, Hinoka places a heavy, forceful hand on her knee. The hard clap is audible. "I'm to escort her for the day," Hinoka says, voice polite but pointed. "After her near transformation, Mother wants one of us to be on hand, in case it should happen again."

Sakura slides to the edge of her chair. "A-And me, too… I'd like to see the library."

"The librarians are quite strict, I'm afraid. Large groups are frowned on, as they tend to disrupt the studious atmosphere that our renowned scholars require." The words flow from Aqua's mouth in a smooth, unhesitant stream. Either the library was truly that unwelcoming or Aqua was an excellent liar—and quick on her feet, to boot. Uncertain, Kamui tries to read the girl's face, but the same little half-smile still decorates her lips. Apparently stoneface syndrome ran in the family.

"I'm sure the both of you can come," Kamui says. Aqua's smile wavers the slightest bit before the princess fixes Kamui with a cryptic gaze. Her eyes are golden, a curious, melting color that Kamui can't quite look away from. Aqua's eyebrows lift ever so delicately. "If the librarians object, I'm sure I can convince him—them."

Kamui tries not to squirm under Aqua's unflinching gaze. After an eternity spent studying her face, Aqua frees Kamui from her stare with a little nod. "Well, I'd advise you not to argue should your decision be pressed." Aqua waves a hand out to Sakura and Hinoka. "If the pair of you would like to accompany us, you're more than welcome."

"I apologize for the intrusion," Hinoka says, rising to her feet. "Lately, it seems Kamui needs to be supervised." Whatever delicate truce she had managed by being cooperative Kamui's sure is ruined once again. The words are harsh anyways, and pettiness is uncharacteristic for Hinoka. An apology though is out of the question. If Hinoka wished to keep secrets from her, then Hinoka couldn't well be upset when she does the same, Kamui decides. Which she wasn't even doing. Setting her bowl on the breakfast tray, Kamui rises to her feet after her sisters. This adventure was about to be... incredibly unpleasant.

* * *

Even the silent walk itself is uncomfortable, and by the time they reach the imposing wooden double doors, Kamui's never been so happy to see a library in her life. Hinoka frowns up at the carving on the wood, delicate panels filled with curlicues and flowers. "It's so... ornate," Hinoka says, arms folded tight over her chest yet again.

"Well, Aqua said the library was renowned. What were you expecting?" Kamui asks. Her voice is harder than she intends, but Hinoka's glower burning into her back the whole walk up has already tested her temper. The heat from Hinoka's newest glare is almost tangible. Aqua glances between them, but Kamui lets her face sink into a scowl anyways. Whatever Hinoka was pissed about—the library venture, yesterday, some combination of the two—, it didn't warrant this nasty attitude.

"Ah... I... I think it's lovely," Sakura says. At her soft praise, Hinoka jerks her head away from Kamui to frown at the floor. Good.

"Are we ready to enter?" Aqua asks, wrapping her hand around one bronze door handle. "It's imperative the three of you speak not above a whisper once we're inside." It's an admonition directed more towards her and Hinoka, and all four of them know it. Sakura nods along with them anyways. "Well then..." Aqua heaves the door open and waves the three girls inside.

The door closes behind them, hinges squeaking. "Welcome to our library," Aqua says, nodding to the the spacious room. It's more books than she's ever seen in one place, and Kamui stares open-mouthed across the sheer expanse learning. At her side, Kamui can hear Sakura's little, wondering gasp. Bookshelves, sturdy mahogany wood, tower up from the floor to the ceiling. Their shelves are laden with tomes, a kaleidoscope of rich colors decorated with gold and silver thread, but under the weight of all their baggage, the shelves remain unbent, almost proud at the knowledge they contain. Long tables, their chairs deserted, lit with soft magical lamp light divide the rows of shelves into two columns.

"It's beautiful…" Kamui breathes. She lets Aqua guide them down the main aisle, slow enough that they might crane their necks to catch every little detail down every set of shelves. "In Hoshido, we've got a library of course, but it's sad and old, all dusty and forgotten. Yukimura used to give me history lessons in it, and it was positively dreadful." Kamui thinks Aqua makes a soft sound, almost a giggle, as she drags out each syllable 'dreadful' in disgust. "U-Um, it had a lot of windows, so you could see out into the courtyards. Ryouma, Hinoka, and Saizou used to make faces at me 'n Takumi when we were in lessons."

Hinoka only grunts.

Gazing across the tables, Aqua drinks in the buttery lighting with a gentle smile. "When I set eyes upon the library for the first time, it was a magical experience. Marx and Camilla had described it to me, of course, but to finally see where they had been bringing me those lovely fairytales from and how many more I had yet to read… It cheered me whenever the king let one of them escort here," Aqua says.

"Garon wouldn't let children in his library?" Kamui asks. Hinoka gently swats her shoulder, rolling her eyes as Kamui moves to rub a hand over the tingling skin.

"I think Leon almost lived here when he was young," Aqua says. Her silver hair decorations, not quite Hoshidan make but not Nohrian either, catch on the light as she peeks over her shoulder to Kamui. "I'm in a similar situation to you, Princess Kamui. My mother had me by another man and later married the king. When she passed away shortly after, King Garon graciously took me in as his ward. Unlike you, however, political machinations made being my mother's daughter... difficult. My quarters were kept separate from the palace for many years, and I was kept to those rooms."

"Ah. I'm sorry to hear that," Kamui says. So that was likely why she didn't remember Aqua all those years ago. To be cloistered away like some prisoner... Kamui's not sure she could stand the same.

Aqua shakes her head. "That the king kept me at all was by some grace of the gods." They've reached the middle of the library, and Aqua slows to a graceful halt. The three sisters cluster around her. "Perhaps so we cause less of a disruption, I should guide you to whatever genre you're looking for one at a time," Aqua says. "Sakura?"

"Ah—Um… um…" Sakura looks helplessly to Kamui. Nudging her shoulder, Hinoka gives Sakura an encouraging smile.

"Come along. We can walk along the shelves while you decide," Aqua says with a soft smile. After Aqua and Sakura have walked a good distance, Kamui pulls out one of the wooden chairs with a scrape and flops down. Split up like this, perhaps there would be no need for the prince to even know of her sisters' presence. Or perhaps Marx would be in a good mood, or better yet, understand even. The strange dream comes back with a heavy wave of spice that catches Kamui's breath. He definitely didn't need to know about—

"You don't like reading," Hinoka says. Kamui tries not to look too guilty as Hinoka places her hands on her hips. She looks suspicious anyways, and Kamui knows it. Marx would regret trusting a poor liar.

"Neither do you," Kamui says. She tries angling her head up, like she had mimicked Marx doing yesterday. Again, the proud set of her chin boosts her confidence.

"Hence why I wasn't the one looking for a tour."

"It's…" Kamui falters watching Hinoka's stern frown waver. Her mother's words flood back, that Hinoka was just as hurt as she was. "Just…" If she were to share Marx's cryptic directions and his description of Iago though, Hinoka would most definitely storm after one or both of them. Which Kamui's fairly certain is a rather bad idea. "Please just trust me, Hinoka. Until I can tell you."

"Hinoka? Books?" Saved by Aqua yet again. Kamui nods from Hinoka to the girl. Pursing her lips, Hinoka returns Kamui's nod with one of her own. It doesn't comfort her, but Kamui supposes it's better than the alternative response.

Kamui slumps across the table, watching Aqua and Hinoka as they walk away. What was it Mother had said, Kamui wonders. That she had been keeping just as many secrets as they? Perhaps her mother was right, after all. Kamui scratches a fingernail up and down the slick wood. The glossy, dark mahogany glows in the lamp light, little reflected pools of amber lighting up the wood like firefly light. Kamui suspects they don't have fireflies in Nohr. If she has to stay, she'll miss those, too, along with all the smells and sounds and her family.

"Princess, we've no time for dallying," Aqua says. She leans across the table, pale hair waterfalling across the flat plane. "Come. Before your sisters follow." Kamui jerks to her feet, scraping the chair with a sound that makes Aqua wince. "Discretion, please."

Kamui trails after Aqua, peeking down each aisle for a glimpse of the prince. "This is to meet Ma—"

"Hush." With a soft jangle of hair ornaments, Aqua tosses Kamui a cold stare over her shoulder. Once Kamui shuts her mouth, Aqua spins back around just as abruptly. So bluntness ran in the… adopted family as well. Skimming her fingers over the dark wood, Aqua slows to a halt at the second to last bookshelf. "Come along. Before someone snoops after you," Aqua says, nodding to the shelves. Glancing back across the deserted library, Kamui ducks down the aisle.

* * *

Marx stands stiff between the bookcases, blond curls drifting across his high cheekbones yet again the only scrap of him that dares be the slightest bit rebellious. Kamui tears her eyes away from Marx's cheekbones before she can study them too long. That unfamiliar feeling has already built up too much in her belly again, and all she's done is glance to the prince's face. Clearing her throat, Aqua rustles around her, with a passing, odd glance for Kamui. "How fares the search?" Aqua asks.

At the sound of Aqua's melodious voice, Marx's face softens, a slight act that eases round his eyes and mouth. Kamui drops her gaze down to the ground before he can turn to face them properly. Her heart beats unnaturally fast. "You ask me that question like you think I might answer it for you, Aqua," Marx says, a hint of fondness warming his voice. "Princess."

Kamui drags her eyes from the hem of her dress up to Marx's chest with a determined frown. If Oboro or Takumi learned that she let some Nohrian swallow up her words and quicken her heartbeat, they would surely be disappointed. She was a proud princess of Hoshido, and Hoshidan warriors feared no one. "Let's not dally," Kamui says. "I'm sure neither of us desire to spend much time in the other's presence, so there's no need to pretend otherwise." Kamui tilts her head up to meet Marx's eyes, but the prince is unreadable. She decides not to mention her sisters on a rebellious whim.

"No, I suppose not," Marx says. He snaps the book in his hands shut and slides it back on the shelf. "It would be best you left, Aqua."

Aqua's hair ornaments tinkle at the little shake of her head. "I shan't let you handle this alone." She's here, Kamui wants to point out. That has to count for something. Instead she settles for folding her arms over her chest and restraining herself from pouting. "Besides, you're a poor liar. Even if I didn't actually see what's about to transpire, if Iago were to question me, I'd know the answer. Probably down to the book."

Marx fixes Aqua with a firm glare that she meets with a stare as cool as ice. "…Fine," Aqua breathes. "I'll await you at the doors, Princess Kamui."

"Thank you," Marx murmurs. The lightest hint of affection flickers across Aqua's face, but it vanishes as she spies Kamui's gaze. Ducking her head down, Aqua pads away.

"She seems…" Nice isn't quite the right word, Kamui decides, but now that she's started her sentence, Marx looks to her expectantly. She can't well say his sister seems cold but not… not-nice. "To have a lot of similarities to you," Kamui finishes.

Marx nods. "We may not be blood, but Aqua's a sister to me all the same," Marx says. "If you—or one of your sisters—were to befriend her, you would do our family a great favor. Aqua's a sweet girl."

The softness in his frame and voice is unfamiliar. Kamui watches Marx carefully as he turns his back to her and begins scanning the bookcase. No one had mentioned that when they told her of the prince. A man who loved his family couldn't be completely insufferable. Just like a man who wasn't horrified by her transformation couldn't be much worse.

"With her situation, she hasn't made many friends beyond our siblings and her servants. She deserves someone her own age who can… twitter over the things noble girls your age twitter at during galas with her." Marx pulls a slim notebook from a shelf packed to bursting with literature. "Here. You can start with this one."

Kamui takes the book from Marx's gloved hand and glances down at the cover. The plain brown leather wears at the edges, age made only more apparent by the lack of a title or decoration to draw the eye away. Kamui glances up to the prince, already trailing his fingers along a new portion of the bookcase. She doesn't want to let his slight confidence go unacknowledged. "Next event, I'll seek her out. We can talk about things noble girls my age twitter over, like handsome young men and shoes," Kamui says, with a wry smile.

"Thank you." Marx sounds so serious Kamui's not sure he caught her quip. His voice is like melting chocolate, rich and warm. Swallowing down the little butterflies choking up her throat, Kamui tugs the book a little closer to her chest. Marx glances over his shoulder. "You should concentrate."

Flush rushing up to paint her cheeks, Kamui nods. Great. Yet again, she's led the prince to assume she admires him. Physically. Kamui rips her gaze from Marx's broad shoulders and spins around on her heel. What she couldn't see couldn't possibly mortify her. "So what am I supposed to be looking for?" Kamui asks

Kamui can feel Marx's nose brush against her hair. "The red scrawling is Iago's commentary," he murmurs. His breath is hot on her ear, warming it up to the pointed tip and melting her legs to jelly. Somehow this is more… mortifying than if she had actually just faced him. Ignoring the weakness in her arms, Kamui flips to a random page. Lines of illegible symbols cover the page, only broken by an inky diagram. The profiles of two dragons are placed side by side, one familiar from her history books as a breed native to Nohr, the other... Kamui can feel her belly chill as she eyes the similarities between the illustration and her own draconic transform. 'Differences in snouts' is written in one corner in Iago's hand, squiggling red line pointing at various parts of the intricate diagram.

"S'not a snout," Kamui mumbles, rubbing at her nose. Marx turns back to the bookshelf with what almost could be described as a soft snort. Ruddy red color rushes to Kamui's cheeks. "I-I don't understand what I'm supposed to be getting from this, beyond the fact that this book's guess at the transformed shape is eerily accurate. I can't so much as read anything beyond Iago's writing."

"Patience, princess. Iago's writing will be enough." Marx hands her another book, resting the back cover on her shoulder. Kamui trades him for her current book without a backward glance. "The texts in this library span thousands of years of history, and the works on these shelves are among the oldest. Some date back to the time when the dragon in our own royal blood was still strong enough to allow transformation, and thus accurate illustrations could be drawn. I imagine Hoshido must be similar, if from the Light Dragon instead of Dark."

"Yukimura keeps all of the older scrolls under lock and key. I've never so much as seen a tome on ancestors like me that didn't write them away as myth." Kamui opens the second tome, only to find more illegible symbols and margins decorated with Iago's writing. "Shame," Kamui says with a sigh. "Yukimura had taught all of us how to read older Hoshidan writing. I actually could have understood those symbols."

Kamui flips the next page of the book. Another picture, a man with his arms spread wide juxtaposed with a dragon's wingspan, occupies most of the thin paper. The cool chill settles again in her belly the longer Kamui stares at the illustration. They weren't any different than the diagrams of men and women in common medicine books, but Kamui can't shake the feeling something… isn't right. "Um… Can you read this?" Kamui asks. "What does it say?"

She glances over her shoulder to Marx, but the prince is absorbed in picking another book for her from the shelves. Kamui nudges the prince's back with her foot. "Hey. I asked you a question."

"And I deigned not to answer it," Marx says. The prince pulls another book from the bookcase and holds it up for Kamui. She plucks it from his fingers with a disdainful sniff. "You should wear shoes. Without them, you'll only get splinters and frozen toes."

"Nohrian shoes pinch my feet," Kamui says. "They're all pointy at the end, and they make me stand on tiptoe. I can't do anything but wobble with the stupid pointy heel thingy forcing me on tiptoe." Marx only shakes his head.

"The shoes themselves are called heels, and you aren't supposed to do anything but wobble in them. What else were you trying to do in them?" Marx asks. Kamui stares icily down at him. "Nohrian nobility wear shoes. Do the same, if only so you don't attract strange gossip."

"Don't tell me they'll assassinate me for choosing not to wear your impractical footwear?" Marx returns to scouring the shelves with a tight sigh. Right. This was why they didn't get along, despite Marx's flashes of... not awfulness. Orders, orders, orders. Kamui flips open the next book. More illegible text and scribbling red hand stare up at her. "This isn't getting me anywhere," Kamui says. "Can't you just tell me what you want from me?"

"I want you to concentrate, princess." Marx rises to his feet and begins skimming another shelf.

"Well, I don't know what I'm supposed to be concentrating on." Kamui says, waving her arms in the air. "You haven't told me the slightest thing, but you just—Aw… crud..." Kamui stops gesturing to watch a page fall loose from the tattered book in her hand. Marx glances over his shoulder in time to catch the page drift to the floor. The prince's mouth thins to a flat line. "The book is old, okay?"

Marx turns around proper and plucks the book from her fingers. Kamui scowls sullenly at the dopey napkin thing wrapped around his neck because it's easier than looking to his face. "Never mind. I'm expecting too much from you." Marx sweeps up the fallen page in an easy motion. "Just return… to…"

Given how much enjoyment Kamui can only assume Marx derives from ordering people around, watching the prince trail into silence, command drying up on his lips, seems like it must signify something curious. Kamui leans over to peek at the page.

Her face stares back at her. Actually, the hand-drawn picture gazes off three-quarters, an indirect focus that somehow makes the illustration feel even more intrusive. Rough pencil strokes soften the planes of her face, shading to add color to her lips and eyes. The picture never belonged to the book it fell from. Rather, it was drawn on loose leaf and then placed inside. Iago's red scrawl decorates the margins of the yellowy-white paper, marking out the proportions of her ear, jawline, eyes—Kamui feel a little ill. "D-Did he draw this?"

"Perhaps." Marx smooths a thumb across his lips, scowling at the picture in his hand.

"That… That is unnatural." Kamui swallows thickly. Ripping her eyes from the drawing, Kamui twirls on her heel. Having the illustration to her back doesn't make her feel any better. "T-To draw something like that… Without my knowledge…" Kamui shudders.

Marx folds his arms over his chest and begins to pace. His steps are slow and measured, polished shoes clipping against the wooden floor in a soothing rhythm. Listening to it calms the churning in Kamui's belly to a dull roar. Iago had a picture of her. A hand-drawn picture of some private moment she didn't remember posing for. "Does he have more?" Kamui asks. Marx shakes his head, but his eyes are glassy and distant. "Marx, does he have more?" The prince gently worries the tip of one thumb between his teeth, lost in thought. "This… This is what you wanted to show me, right? Marx?" Kamui pads over and places a soft hand on the prince's arm.

Marx jolts out of his reverie at her touch. "We've seen what needs to be seen. It would be best we depart," Marx says, flipping open the book. "Did you see where this went?"

Kamui snatches the page from Marx's grasp. "I don't want him to have that," Kamui says. "What did that mean? The pacing and the deep thinking? You wanted to show me something, but if that was what you wanted to show me, then your reaction was strange. A-Almost that of a man who saw something unexpected." Marx snatches at the page, but Kamui is just quick enough to pull it out of the prince's reach. "And if you knew of the pictures, then I have questions. Does he have others? When has he been drawing these? What is the intention of these pictures? Are there more in—"

Marx's hands settle on Kamui's shoulders, heavy weight of his broad hands almost comforting. "Relax," he murmurs. "Acting rashly will only get us caught. Believe me when I say you do not wish Iago to find that you've been snooping in this."

"Th-Then why did you tell me to begin with?" Kamui balls her hands into tight, little fists, ignoring the sound of crumpling paper. "I can't not confront him after this."

"I… I'll handle it." One of Marx's hands slides down Kamui's arm in a hot, tingling trail to ease the picture from her hand with a gentle touch. "Trust me." Kamui nods softly, not because she agrees with him but because she's not sure Marx will let her leave until she does. Marx steps back with a nod of his own. Flipping open the book, he places the looseleaf picture between two random pages. "Good. Hopefully this shall be close enough that Iago shan't remember it was somewhere else."

Kamui nods again, twirling a finger through her hair. Her voice is stuck somewhere in her throat, and she's not sure she trusts her words anyways. Kamui scowls at Marx, preoccupied with shelving away Iago's creepy sketch. She can't let that picture back into Iago's hands. "Now, I've matters to attend to," Marx says, turning back around. Kamui tries to soften her glare as the prince's eyes roam her face. "Can you be patient, princess?" His voice is soft and reasonable, but Kamui can't shake the feeling that he's talking to her like some child. Like she couldn't handle this herself. Kamui purses her lips and nods again. "I'd feel more comfortable hearing it from you aloud."

Kamui folds her arms over her chest and fixes Marx's neck-napkin with a dull stare. "I can be patient."

"Then I trust you," Marx says. The prince's shoulders rise and fall at his deep sigh. Kamui chews lightly on her lip. If the prince was trying to make her feel guilty for what she was about to do, then he had succeeded at that much. "Wait a few minutes. It would be good for us not to be seen coming from this aisle together." Marx holds her gaze just a second too long before spinning on his heel and striding away.

Kamui waits til his footsteps grow faint before darting to the bookcase. Tugging the book with Iago's sketch free, Kamui slips the sketch from between its pages. She couldn't let Iago have this. Folding the picture into a small square, Kamui shoves the paper into the pouch holding her dragonstone. What Marx didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Or disappoint him. Or betray his trust he rather abruptly forced on her. Kamui tucks the text back where she pulled it from and walks away.

As Kamui rounds the corner of the bookcases, Aqua, Sakura, and Hinoka all stare at her from the library doorway. Right. In the rush of Iago and their... discovery, she had never warned Marx of her sisters' presence. Perhaps they didn't see each oth—Hinoka shakes her head with a sigh Kamui can't hear, but can see all the same. A betrayal of trust.

The paper sits like lead against Kamui's chest.

* * *

Per usual, I love hearing your feedback and pairing requests! Thank you for reading!


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